The Waiting Game
by tridget
Summary: John and Rodney are stuck in an alien prison with no means of escape and the hope of rescue fading. Shep Whump, McKay whump, and John/Rodney friendship


**Title:** **The Waiting Game**  
**Author:** **tridget**  
**Genre:** Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** Occasional mild language.  
**Spoilers:** "Phantoms," and "Common Ground"  
**Word Count:** ~8900  
**Prompt:** Written for the **sheppard_hc** Flashfic Picture Challenge  
**Summary:** Sheppard and McKay are stuck in a prison with no way out and no rescue in sight.  
**Notes:** Thank you to **kriadydragon** for the beta reading and for helping me "slug" out the ending. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

* * *

**The Waiting Game**

"We have to find a way out." Sheppard spat each word out in a low growl as he paced, his stride too long and agitated for the size of the cell.

"You've said that already," Rodney complained, shifting as he sat on his pallet on the floor. "What you haven't said is how we're going to get out of here."

Sheppard ground to a halt and spun around to face Rodney. The look in his eyes lasted only a second or two, but it was enough to make Rodney press his back firmly against the filthy concrete wall, wanting to put more distance between him and his friend. It was a dangerous look, the one that usually meant there'd be a trail of alien corpses on the floor by the end of the day. It was fine, really — almost comforting in an odd sort of way when Sheppard directed that look at their enemies. But when it was directed at Rodney...not so much.

Then Sheppard blinked and the moment was gone. "Feel free to apply your scientific genius to the problem at any time now."

"That's what I've been doing. But I'm able to think perfectly well while sitting down." Rodney tilted his chin up smugly. "My approach has the added advantage of not wasting my limited food and water rations on excess activity and perspiration."

"I'm not perspiring..." Sheppard squinted down at his T-shirt, "...much."

Rodney swiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'll bet this place is hotter than the Netu prison SG1 got sent to. I hear that was hotter than hell."

Silently conceding Rodney's point, Sheppard sat down on his own bunk. He chewed his lower lip while his eyes roamed the room restlessly. "The temperature's probably gonna drop a lot at night here."

"How do you know that? Did you check _The Weather Network's_ forecast for M3X-982 before we left Atlantis?"

"It's a desert. Deserts usually get much colder at night," Sheppard explained, with more than a hint of condescension. "Geez, McKay, use your head for a minute."

"I'll ignore your tone and I'll overlook the fact that you've been acting like an ass since we got here. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up to the extreme heat."

Scowling, Sheppard made a rude gesture at Rodney.

"Case in point," Rodney retorted.

"It's not as if _you_ haven't made a few uncalled-for remarks since we got here."

"That's just me. I can't help myself. I expect better from you."

Sheppard sighed and plucked at his shirt, trying to fan himself with the damp fabric. "It _is_ really hot here. Must be at least one hundred and ten degrees."

Rodney nodded, figuring that was as much of an apology as he was getting. "This prison really sucks — even more than most prisons."

"More than most? How many prisons do you have for comparison in your database?" Sheppard snapped, his irritable mood resurfacing in a flash.

"More than I used to since I joined your team," Rodney shot back. Then he clamped his mouth shut thinking he'd gone too far. It must have been the heat.

"Who cares what the cell looks like anyway?" Sheppard continued, taking no note of Rodney's outburst. "It's what they do when they take you out of the cell..."

"Wh-what do you mean by that? What do you think they're going to do to us here?" Rodney's heart raced uncomfortably.

Sheppard blinked. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Too late. I'm worried now. Actually, I was already worried, but now I'm even more worried."

"We'll get out of here. Maybe Teyla and Ronon got away. If they did, they'll bring help. If they didn't, Elizabeth will still send a search team when we're overdue for check-in."

"Which is when?"

Sheppard scrubbed his hands tiredly over his face. "A couple of hours, maybe. I'm not sure how long we were unconscious. They took my watch."

"Okay, so let's say we're overdue in two hours. Elizabeth will call for a rescue team and it'll take them about—"

Sheppard jumped to his feet and Rodney scrambled to follow suit when a loud clang caught their attention. They watched as a tray with the evening's rations was thrust through a small hatch by the floor. The offering looked exactly the same as the last unappetizing meal – gray stew made from unidentifiable elements and tepid water.

"You might try varying the menu a bit," Sheppard shouted at the guard barely visible through a small barred window in the heavy door.

For that, Sheppard earned a warning thump on the bars.

"Why do you do that? You know it pisses them off," Rodney accused as he picked up the tray.

"Like they aren't pissed off already."

"Well, you make them more pissed off than they already are."

Sheppard sunk back onto his sleeping mat. "Don't know why I do that." He shrugged. "Don't wanna show them any weakness, I guess."

Rodney handed out Sheppard's bowl and cup along with some sort of scoop that was probably intended to serve as a spoon. "And you think you can muster a show of strength after you've provoked them into beating you to a pulp?"

Sheppard was silent.

Rodney settled on his own bedding with his dinner, watching as Sheppard stared into his portion of gray slop.

"Sheppard?"

Sheppard blinked as his head shot up. "What?"

"Is something wrong? I mean something apart from the fact we're in an alien prison with a less than five star rating?"

"Isn't that enough?" Sheppard's hand trembled slightly as he lifted his cup and took a sip of water.

"It's just that being in prison doesn't usually cause you to do the space cadet routine."

Sheppard glowered at Rodney. "Shut up and eat."

"Easier said than done." Rodney closed his eyes and jammed a small scoopful of slop into his mouth, hoping that if he didn't see it, it would be easier to consume. He gagged anyway and had to swallow hard to get it down. So much for that theory.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney stuck a dollop of mush on his finger, placed it on the roof of his mouth and tipped his head back, hoping to slide the foul gunk down his throat without tasting it.

"For God's sake, Rodney! Just watching you eat is making me feel sick." Sheppard slid one arm across his stomach and inched his knees up as if to prove his point.

"Then don't watch. Find something else to do." Rodney flapped one hand in the air, gesturing around the barren room.

"And there's so much to choose from here."

Rodney looked at what remained to be eaten of his meal and grimaced. "Look, we _have_ to eat. We need to keep our strength up. That's what you told me. So I'm trying to find the optimal method for consuming this...this..." He took a shallow breath and clamped his mouth shut, trying to stifle his gag reflex. Once he had it under control, Rodney continued. "You'll thank me when I discover it. I'll-" He suddenly realized that Sheppard had finished eating. "How'd you manage to finish already?"

"It takes practice."

"How much practice have you had?"

"Just…finish your damn dinner. And stop talking to me. I need to concentrate so I don't throw mine back up." Sheppard shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Pleasant image," Rodney muttered. He pinched his nostrils shut and stuck another spoonful in his mouth.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney pulled on a pair of socks over the ones he was wearing. "They should have rescued us by now. Why do you think they're not here?"

"I'm sure they're working on it. We just have to hang on a bit longer."

"How cold do you think it's going to get?" Rodney fretted as he donned the last item of clothing that he had been allowed to keep from his pack.

"I don't know. It'll probably feel really cold in comparison to the day. There are other prisoners here. They make it through the nights." Sheppard shrugged. "Maybe it's not too bad."

"Oh, great. I've dressed like Heidi heading up the Alps and now you tell me it might not be too bad."

Sheppard snickered. His only concession to the cold so far had been to pull on a long-sleeved top over his T-shirt. Of course, Sheppard never seemed to pack even half as much clothing as Rodney.

"I hate the cold." Rodney wrapped his arms around himself.

"You're Canadian, Rodney."

"So I speak from experience when I say I hate the cold… I wish I'd packed my orange polar fleece jacket. But who'd think to pack something like that for a desert planet?"

"When you get right down to it, who'd think to pack that for any trip?"

"Mock my jacket all you like, but don't forget, I was shipped to Siberia before the Antarctic. For a long time, I thought I'd never be warm again..." Rodney's voice trailed off sadly.

When Sheppard replied, his voice was free from the edge it had had all day. "Hey, I've got an idea. I'll show you how to make a survival sleeping bag to keep yourself warm. Spread your blanket on your bed like this." Sheppard laid out his cover so that one corner was at the head of the bed and another corner at the foot.

Rodney did likewise.

"Now, follow what I do." Sheppard sat down on his bed with his legs extended and expertly folded the fabric over himself until even his head was cocooned under the layers. Then he popped his head out again to watch Rodney.

Rodney churned around in his blanket. "I'm no good at origami," he whined.

"Try again." Sheppard unfolded his material and took Rodney through the process step by step.

Rodney twisted and flailed and wound the blankets in a knot around himself.

Sheppard sighed and climbed out of his own makeshift sleeping bag. "Get up. Spread your blanket out again and lie down."

Rodney complied, moving stiffly under his multi-layered garb.

Then Sheppard knelt and expertly folded the covers around Rodney. "After tonight, you're on your own," he said as he folded one flap down over Rodney's head and the other flap up over his face.

"This is good. I could have used this technique in Siberia." Rodney's voice filtered out from under the swathe. He relaxed and lay still, listening to the muffled sound of Sheppard wrapping himself up again.

"Sheppard?"

"What?"

"Thanks for the tuck-in. But you know how in military survival training they also teach you to keep warm by sharing body heat?"

"Yeah."

"I just want to remind you that I am _not_ in the military."

Sheppard laughed. "G'night, Rodney."

"Goodnight."

"And by the way — should this ever come up again — I did _not_ just tuck you in."

"Did, too."

"Did not."

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney woke up in the dark, panicked, disoriented and shivering. Realizing where he was and what had happened didn't help at all.

A nearby rustling grabbed his attention. Unidentified noises were always a dilemma. Should he lie still and hope to avoid detection or should he move and get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could?

The puzzle was solved when Rodney heard Sheppard moan and retch. He really hoped the sound was coming from the corner serving as a latrine, because anywhere else in the room would be, well...

Now there was another problem. Should he acknowledge that he was awake, do the noble thing and get up to look after his friend even though there was probably not a thing he could do to help? Or should he lie still, pretend to be asleep, and avoid Sheppard who would be embarrassed, grouchy, and worst of all, sick?

Rodney sighed and poked his head out from the blanket flaps. "Sheppard?"

"Go back t' sleep." Sheppard's voice sounded about as rough as Rodney expected.

"You better not have picked up some sort of disease on this planet. We're pretty much sharing the same air molecules and if you're spreading airborne germs…" Rodney tugged the tip of his blanket back up over his mouth and nose – just in case.

Sheppard coughed and spat. "Don't have...a disease."

"It's the food then, isn't it? Oh, my God! We've been poisoned. I knew it. Nothing that putrid can possibly be good for you. Who knows where those chunky pieces in the stew came from...or what?"

"Not h-helping." Sheppard gagged and threw up again.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's always so hard to know the right thing to say in a situation like this. What should I have left out, the probable poisoning or the description of the stew?"

Sheppard groaned.

"How about I just keep quiet for a minute?" Rodney stuck his fingers in his ears to block out the disturbing sounds that followed; so he didn't get to hear what Sheppard had to say about that offer.

After a couple of minutes, Rodney risked removing a finger from one ear. He was relieved to hear Sheppard's feet shuffling the last few steps back to his bed. Rodney waited until Sheppard settled on his bunk again. "How are you feeling?" he ventured.

"Better," Sheppard rasped.

"Better?"

"I'm not pukin' anymore. That's gotta count for something."

Rodney huffed in exasperation. "Seriously, we have to figure out what made you sick because—"

"I know what made me sick."

"Now might be a good time to share what you know."

"I'm not convinced that 'good time' and 'share' belong together in the same sentence."

Rodney felt the band that had been tightening around his chest loosen a little on hearing Sheppard's snarky quip – a sure sign the man wasn't on death's doorstep...yet.

Sheppard heaved a weary sigh. "It was just a bad dream."

Rodney braced himself. He didn't want to ask, but it had to be done. "Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

"Not really. No."

"Okay. That's good. I'm fine with that because if it made you that sick, who knows what it would do to me."

There was a long silence.

"Sheppard?" Rodney's voice was softer. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Rodney."

For a minute, Rodney thought that Sheppard's standard response was all he was getting.

"It's this place..." Sheppard continued. "It reminds of Afghanistan. It reminds me a lot...the stifling heat, the nauseating stench... It wasn't one of my favorite places."

"Oh... Oh, no! You're not going to do the M1B-129 thing and weird-out on me again, are you? M-m-maybe it's a good thing they took our weapons because—"

"That was different. There was an alien machine screwing with my mind and you know that. I said I was sorry I shot you, but you've brought it up so many times I'm beginning to rethink my apology."

"So what is this?" Rodney asked.

"This? This is just...memories. Many of 'em not so good. They kinda sneak up on me."

"Ummm... You know..." Rodney took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I really wish I had something helpful to say right now, but I don't."

Sheppard chuckled softly. "Believe it or not, sometimes you just being yourself helps."

"Really? That's cool..." Rodney pondered that for a short while. "So, why didn't the memories sneak up on you on that other desert planet, the one where Gaul...ah...the other desert planet?"

"Don't know. It didn't feel exactly the same...it...I don't know. I was kind of busy at the time. Maybe that's it. Too much time to think here."

"That, I can do something about. Do you want to play chess?"

"Don't tell me you had a pocket chess game with you and the guards let you keep it in here."

"Do you really need the actual pieces to play the game, Colonel Coulda-Been-Mensa?"

"No. No, I don't."

"I didn't think so." Rodney closed his eyes, visualizing the chessboard. "I'm white."

"Why do you get to pick?"

"Because it was my idea. Now be quiet. I'm thinking."

"Fine," Sheppard grumbled.

Rodney opened. "e4"

"c5"

~~~ooo~~~

The monotony of the meals was unrelieved at breakfast, except the slop was a little, well, sloppier.

"As if yesterday's meals weren't enough punishment..." Rodney stirred the swill with his scoop. "They've watered it down today—"

"Rodney..." Sheppard began.

"...Although that might make it easier to swallow—"

"Rodney."

"And you probably really need the water after throwing it all up last night—"

"McKay!"

"What?" Rodney finally paused in his discourse.

"I don't want to hear another word of discussion about the meals," Sheppard stated emphatically.

"But—"

"Not one. That's an order."

Rodney stopped talking about the food. But he couldn't stop talking altogether. "Have you got something better to talk about?"

"Silence would be nice."

"No, it wouldn't"

"Why not?"

"For me, it would take too much effort not to talk and I have to conserve my strength since the foo—" Rodney stopped himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I won't say another word about it. And you, well, you need me to talk or your mind will wander elsewhere. What happens if you take one of those little trips," Rodney made a gesture toward his head, "and don't come back?"

"That's not gonna happen."

Rodney sat, swallowing the gruel in silence.

"Okay," Sheppard relented. "So maybe talking would be a good distraction from the...from the stuff we are _not_ going to talk about."

Rodney grinned. "Did I tell you about the two newest minions in my lab?"

~~~ooo~~~

"Where's the rescue? They should be here by now." Rodney stared through one of the tiny barred holes in the outer wall.

"That's it. The rescue is now added to the official list of things you are _not_ allowed to talk about."

"What's wrong with that? Avoiding talking about the foo—" Rodney caught himself. He mimed mixing with a bowl and spoon instead. "…I can understand, but the rescue…?"

"It's not so much the content as the frequency. I don't have any more information than I did five minutes ago, or the five minutes before that, or—"

"Okay. Okay. I get the point."

Sheppard sighed. "Maybe Elizabeth is trying got negotiate our release. That takes time."

"I'm not very patient."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"You know, the next time I get stuck in a cell, and I'm assuming there will be a next time, I'm going to ask for a different cellmate," Rodney groused.

"I roomed next to a guy named 'Todd' not too long ago. Kinda gruff, but didn't talk quite so much."

"At least I'm not looking to have you for dinner."

Sheppard paled. "Jesus, McKay. That is just...just—"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Rodney stammered. "You're right. There's way too much time here. How about prime not prime?"

"Gimme a number."

"Why do you get to guess first?"

"'Cause the sooner my mind has something else to occupy itself with, the better."

"Three thousand seven hundred seventy three."

~~~ooo~~~

"I can't," Rodney whined. "I really can't. I'll drink the water but—"

"McKay, stop."

"No, you stop. I'm fed up with your stupid rules for conversation."

"Fine." Sheppard huffily shoved his nearly empty bowl aside and stretched out on his bed. He rolled over to face the wall, his back to Rodney.

Rodney resisted the urge to point out that Sheppard had not quite finished his meal, and returned his attention to his own serving. Completely out of consumption strategies, Rodney swallowed another glob. He scrunched up his eyes, whimpering and shuddering with each repugnant mouthful until it was done.

The quicker the remains were out of sight, the better. Rodney placed the dinnerware on the tray and shoved it back through the hatch. Then he shuffled back to his spot, dropping down on his mat again. For a few minutes, Rodney considered the fact that hot air rises and tried to occupy himself by calculating how much cooler he would feel lying flat out on the floor in comparison to sitting upright on the floor. He tried both positions. Despite his calculations, in actual practice, he didn't feel one bit of difference.

Rodney's eyes roved around the room as he examined the solidly constructed cement cell for the umpteenth time. There was no way out — no way other than a rescue team from Atlantis, and that was beginning to look a little less certain as far as Rodney was concerned.

Then Rodney ran out of things to do — except worry. He started to breathe a little faster and his hands started to shake.

"Sheppard?"

There was no answer.

"Sheppard!" Rodney called a bit louder. Maybe a lot louder.

Sheppard sprung up suddenly. "What?" His eyes darted around the room as his hands fumbled for his missing weaponry. "What?" he asked again as the tension seeped from his body in the absence of an immediate threat.

"W-were you sleeping?"

Sheppard's eyes narrowed at Rodney. "You have got to be kidding me."

Rodney felt as if the air in the room became even thinner. His heart thudded frantically. "N-no. I'm sorry. I-I-I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't know you were asleep. I thought you were just-just ignoring me…"

"So you thought that would be a good reason to disturb me?"

"I was…" Rodney sucked in a lungful of air. "I wanted…" He gasped again.

"Rodney?"

"I… Oh, God." Rodney whispered as the room started to spin slowly.

Sheppard was kneeling in front of him in an instant. He grabbed Rodney's wrist, checking his pulse.

"I don't think…they're sending…anyone. We're gonna be stuck here…"

"They'll be here. We'll get out. We'll be okay. Come on, lie down." Sheppard eased Rodney to his side on the mat.

"It's not really…any cooler…at floor level…even though…my calculations…"

"Shhh. Relax. Take slow, deep breaths."

Rodney tried desperately to slow his breathing down. It was either that or pass out, although the latter option didn't sound all that bad right now. At least it would kill some time.

"That's better. Slow and steady," Sheppard said.

"My mind can't take this. It-it needs to be occupied. I wish…I had my laptop."

"Try this then. Imagine a five by five grid. Each square can contain both a number and a shape…"

~~~ooo~~~

"I'm sorry I said your rules were stupid," Rodney offered.

"It's okay. Forget it. I know you didn't mean it."

"I meant it," Rodney corrected. "I'm just sorry I said it."

"McKay, do you ever stop to think before you open your mouth?"

"Not that I can recall."

Sheppard just shook his head as he shoved his dinner bowl aside. He bent his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry I got us into this mess."

"You got us into this mess? I thought it was my fault."

"Your fault? Why would you think it was your fault?" Sheppard tossed the leftover dinner scoop from one hand to the other as he spoke.

"We're in here because they thought we were saboteurs. When the street lights turned on, the demand overloaded their power generator; although I would hardly categorize those chipped and broken boards as a 'street.' Anyway, I—"

"The burnt-out generator wasn't your fault."

"Actually, it was," Rodney argued. "Remember I told you about those energy readings?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my analysis suggested that they might be consistent with Ancient technology — maybe not ZPM level but still…" Rodney sighed.

"Are you going to finish connecting the dots for me?" Sheppard absentmindedly gripped the handle of the scoop and swung the utensil in a few loose arcs.

"I figured if they had an Ancient power source, they might have a few Ancient gadgets. So I-I just thought I'd try a little experiment. Just, you know, a small scale scientific inquiry. I mean, science is why you take a scientist along on a mission, right?"

Wielding his spoon, Sheppard made stabbing motions into the mattress. "Is there an end in sight to this confession?"

"Th-there could be…if you put your weapon down."

"My weap…? Oh." Sheppard tossed the imaginary dagger down.

"Okay. Here's the funny part." Rodney laughed nervously. "Well, not so funny I suppose considering we ended up here. I…I thought 'on.'"

"You did what?" Sheppard gaped.

"I thought 'on.' How was I supposed to know that row after row of lights would come on and burn out their power supply?

"Rodney, it wasn't—"

"It looked cool though. All those purple sparks arcing from post to post…" Rodney's eyes gleamed for a moment.

"Rodney, I could have told you there was Ancient tech there."

"How? Did your spidey-sense tingle?"

"As a matter of fact—" Sheppard thrust his chin out defensively.

Now it was Rodney's turn to gape. "Y-you didn't?" he spluttered.

Sheppard shrugged.

"You did!" Rodney accused. "You thought 'on,' too. Crap. No wonder…"

"Yeah…"

"Have you tried thinking 'on' since they put us in the cell?"

"I got nothin'. I tried 'off,' too."

"So probably the Ancient tech is no longer nearby. And unless they fixed the generator while we were unconscious, which is extremely unlikely, this place has another power supply."

"Maybe we're not in Kansas anymore," Sheppard said slowly. "Maybe they've taken us somewhere else."

"Damn. No wonder the rescue is taking so long."

"They're still gonna find us. They'll be here." Sheppard repeated his mantra. "They just need more time."

"We might have to wait a long time. Days or-or weeks or even… Who knows how far we are from the village?"

"We're going to survive," Sheppard said firmly. "And we're going to get out of here."

~~~ooo~~~

"Back up! Hands above your head!" The command boomed through the small opening in the cell door.

Rodney figured he and Sheppard were in big trouble if the guard was as imposing as his voice. His eyes flickered to his teammate, but Sheppard's eyes were fixed on the guard.

Despite anticipating the unwanted visitors, Rodney startled when the cell door banged heavily against the wall. His heart hammered wildly as six burly men with weapons swarmed into the room.

"I guess the concept of downsizing hasn't made it here yet," Sheppard drawled.

"Where is it?" The lead guard demanded.

"I already told the other guy - I was bored. I was tossing the spoon in the air, although it wasn't anywhere near as much fun as a football." Sheppard demonstrated a toss – minus the pigskin.

The guard scowled and fired a warning shot over Sheppard's shoulder.

"Hey!" Sheppard protested amid a shower of cement chips.

Rodney dropped into a crouch with his arms wrapped over his head.

"Get up!" the guard barked at Rodney. "And you," he turned to Sheppard, cocking the rifle again. "Finish. Quickly."

"I'm getting there. I was going for a 'Hail Mary' when the spoon flew out of my hand and landed…there." Sheppard grimaced and pointed to the deep, dark pit serving as the bathroom.

The guard locked eyes with Sheppard for a minute. "Search the room!"

The rest of the security force started upturning the mattresses and rummaging through the two meager piles of clothing.

Giddy with anxiety, Rodney almost laughed at the absurdity of such a zealous search being conducted in a practically empty room. Then he yelped as one man grabbed him and frisked him roughly.

Sheppard grinned cockily. "Recreation for the inmates leaves a lot to be desired here."

The guards exchanged a quick look. In unspoken agreement, two of them grabbed Sheppard by his arms while the leader pulled back his meaty fist and drove it into Sheppard's stomach.

Grunting as the air was forced from his lungs, Sheppard buckled at the knees and doubled over. He would have hit the floor if the guards had not still had a hold of him.

"What the hell…!" Rodney's urge to take further action was quashed by the weapon pointed at his head.

Rodney could only stand and watch as Sheppard twisted weakly in the guards' grasp. The seconds ticked by in a silent, oxygen-starved struggle before he sucked in a rasping, wheezy breath. He pulled his head up, gasping, coughing and gagging, his eyes watering with pain.

The punishment for a lost spoon or insolent attitude – Rodney wasn't sure which it was that fueled that guards' anger the most –wasn't over. Sheppard just managed to turn his head to the side as the thugs slammed him into the wall to be frisked, making sure they dragged Sheppard's face across the rough cement as they searched him. Sheppard yelled something hoarse and unintelligible. Rodney thought it was probably a good thing the guards couldn't understand what he had said.

"You'll pay for this." The men shoved Sheppard down to the bed on the floor.

"You c'n…deduct it from…my w-work f-furlow earnings."

At least, that was what Rodney thought Sheppard said. Between his friend's ragged gasps and the split and bleeding lip, it was hard to tell.

Apparently, now satisfied that the missing item was not in the room, the guards left, slamming the door behind them.

"Shit. You never learn, do you?" Rodney dropped to his knees beside Sheppard, now curled up on his mat clutching his stomach.

"G-gonna get usss out-ta this h-hellhole."

Rodney grabbed one of Sheppard's nearby t-shirts and ripped strips of fabric off it. "Here. Do something with this." He shoved a rag into Sheppard's hand.

Sheppard gingerly held the cloth to his lip, wiping the blood that dribbled down his chin, then he grabbed another one to cover his mouth when he started to cough and spit out blood.

"I hope the blood is coming from your lip or mouth and not some massive internal injury," Rodney said.

"H-hope so, too," Sheppard said.

Rodney didn't find Sheppard's answer the least bit reassuring. "Next time, count me out of your ill-conceived plans." Rodney swayed and planted one hand on the ground to keep himself upright.

Sheppard scrunched his eyes closed, coughing again and choking. But when he opened them again they were on Rodney, a worried frown creasing his brow. "Did th-they hurt you?"

"I have several bruises which I'm sure I will hurt even more in the morning." Feeling like he might be on the verge of passing out, Rodney bent forward and put his head between his knees.

"Wha' else's wrong then?"

"It must be close to fifty degrees Celsius here and I'm hot and dizzy and probably dehydrated and did you not think that as much as I'm going stir crazy in this place, I could have done without the excitement of watching my teammate get beaten up?"

"'M Sorry."

The apology made Rodney feel even worse because there was no way someone looking as bad as Sheppard did should be apologizing.

"The plan…worked." Sheppard added.

"It could have worked just as well without taunting the guards."

"No, it dis-distracted the guards…they didn't search well."

Rodney sucked in a few deep breaths and lifted his head. He pulled himself to his feet again and then headed over to the tiny windows on the back wall. Reaching his fingers through a narrow opening between the bars, he tugged on a shoelace that was tied to the rod and dangled outside the window. Carefully, he pulled the string up with the scoop still on the end.

"If nothing else, we get a souvenir spoon from this trip." Rodney handed the utensil to Sheppard.

With one arm extending off the edge of his mat, Sheppard began scraping the spoon against the cement.

"What good will a small, soft metal spike do against an army of armed guards?" Rodney demanded.

"I dunno know…yet. But it's something. It's one thing more than we had."

~~~ooo~~~

With Sheppard apparently asleep and nothing left to do for the day, Rodney lay down, waiting for the day's heat to dissipate. He felt overheated and thirsty and lethargic. He knew heat stroke was going to become a real problem, if it wasn't already. Their chance of making it through a third day was questionable.

Rodney heard Sheppard whimper softly and moan as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Rodney sat up, too. "What's wrong?"

"Trying to get comfortable." Sheppard's voice was thick and slurred.

"I…I wish I could do something to help."

"S'okay. Rodney." Sheppard grimaced as he moved one arm. "You gonna be awake for a while?"

"Probably. It's too hot to sleep."

"D'you want to work on sharpening this thing?" Sheppard held out his stolen scoop.

"I must be getting desperate because even this make-work project will do for now." Rodney took the utensil, grateful to have something with which to occupy himself. But his hand trembled as he worked, when it dawned on him that Sheppard was in too much pain to work on it himself.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney chiseled until his arm felt numb. He still didn't see any use for the tool, but as Sheppard said, it was one thing more than they had. That kind of thinking had been their saving grace more than once.

Once the evening temperature drop began, Rodney wandered to the window trying to catch a breath of the relatively fresher air. He scanned the dusky twilight skies even though he knew it was futile to keep watch for a cloaked jumper.

A large, dark bird, not unlike a vulture, caught his eye. It circled lazily nearby. One bird. It struck Rodney that they'd seen few animals on their trek to the village. The place wasn't fit to sustain life. Rodney watched as the bird broke from its circular flight path and swooped toward the prison. He wondered what had drawn the creature until it crossed his mind that the scavenging bird might be sensing a meal and that the meal could be a dead prisoner. Sickened by the morbid thought, Rodney started to turn away from the window. But his head whipped back to view the scene again when the bird was enveloped in a shower of green sparks and then dropped to the ground, motionless.

"Woah." Rodney peered out with his face pressed to the bars. "Sheppard? Sheppard, wake up. I think they've got some sort of force field here."

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney twisted and turned in a fitful sleep. He dreamed of the bird plunging out of the sky and lying still on the arid ground. Then he saw an image of his sister, Jeannie, as a child, running toward the bird. He woke with start and a nagging feeling that there was a thought, a memory, just beyond his reach.

Cracking his eyes open, Rodney saw Sheppard sitting with his back against the wall and his arms still wrapped around his abdomen. His face, turned toward the windows was illuminated by slivers of moonlight, frighteningly pale except for the bruised and scraped patches of skin.

"Sheppard? Are you okay?"

Sheppard stirred and drew in a short shuddering breath. "Just thinking."

Rodney didn't miss the fact that answering the actual question had been avoided. "About what?"

"Flying," Sheppard answered with a soft sigh.

And then the elusive memory hit Rodney with such force that it almost hurt.

_He and Jeannie were playing hide and seek. Darting through the woods near their home, they tried to outdo one another in finding the perfect location to hide. Rodney had just crammed himself into what he considered the best spot yet when Jeannie shrieked._

"Mer! Over here. Quickly."

Rodney was reluctant to leave his well-chosen spot. Even at the age of six, Jeannie could be wily enough to lure him out with a carefully crafted ruse.

"Mer, please," her voice sounded close to tears.

Rodney emerged warily. "If this is a trick, then I win automatically."

"It's not a trick. Hurry."

Rodney scurried through the crackling leaves and twigs to Jeannie's side and followed her line of sight.

On the mossy ground at the base of a tree, a brown owl sat hunched forward. It raised its head and blinked at Rodney. Then, dragging one wing, it stood, staggered and sunk to the ground again.

Jeannie's small hand tugged on her brother's sleeve. "Do something!"

"We have to tell mom and dad," Rodney announced, hoping that sounded as though he knew precisely the right thing to do.

Rodney and Jeannie raced the short distance home and tumbled through the door babbling at the same time.

"Needs to be put out of its misery," their father responded and returned to his newspaper.

"You can catch diseases from wild animals," their mother warned. She made each of the children take a bath before dinner.

That night, Rodney lay in his bed listening to Jeannie's sobs filtering through the wall between their rooms. He felt useless and stupid because he didn't know what to do for the bird or for Jeannie. He wished somebody would tell him what to do about these kinds of things, but no one ever did…

"Rodney?" Sheppard was leaning forward looking like he might try to make a move toward Rodney's side of the room.

"Huh?" Rodney shook his head, clearing away the memory. But when he looked at Sheppard, he felt stupid and useless all over again because there wasn't a damned thing he could do for his friend. "Get some more sleep," was all Rodney said and he covered his ears against the memory of Jeannie's sobs in the next room.

~~~ooo~~~

Sheppard lay awake, curled up on one side. One arm stretched over the side of the bed, once again scraping the spoon into some sort of implement. Rodney couldn't think of a time Sheppard didn't get up in the morning unless he was unconscious or Carson forbade it. Even then…

"You have to eat. Those are your rules, not mine," Rodney badgered.

"I can't. Not right now." Sheppard breathed heavily and closed his eyes for a minute. When he continued, his voice was unusually quiet. "The stuff tastes like shit going down… You can imagine what it tastes like coming back up…and that's what's gonna happen."

Rodney gulped. "You were right about the meals not being such a good topic of conversation."

"No kidding."

Rodney bent and scooped up handful of cement chips from the previous day's escapade. Flicking them out the window, watching for sparks, he mapped the shape and size of the force field. Then the stones stopped triggering sparks. A few minutes later, Rodney watched several guards emerge from the facility and trudge along the trail winding into the distance.

Rodney turned to flop down on his bed.

"Sheppard?"

"Hmm?" the man's eyes fluttered open again.

"Remember I told you that I thought our subcutaneous transmitters might not be able to be tracked through the force field? Well, this shield has to go down periodically. I think they have to drop it to let the guards in and out. So, a search team could pick up on our signal then. It's just going to take a while because there is only a small window of opportunity each day. But they could do it."

"Knew they could do it. They'll be here." Sheppard mumbled.

"So you have to hang on and to do that you at least have to drink," Rodney insisted

"I know." Sheppard sighed, pushing himself up slowly to take a few sips of water. The cup shook badly even though Sheppard used both hands to steady it.

Rodney bit his lip, watching. Something tugged at his sleeve. He turned his head, startled to see Jeannie, her eyes imploring him to do something.

"What? What am I supposed to do?" he demanded.

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" Sheppard asked.

Jeannie vanished.

"J-just thinking aloud." Rodney shook his head again to clear it. "I…I was thinking about the bird – you know - the one that hit the force field. And I know we can't do anything for that bird, but I was wondering…uh…just in case we ever came across one in our travels or something, what you're supposed to do for an injured bird." His tongue felt thick and dry and the lengthy sentence exhausted him.

Sheppard was silent for a minute. Then a smile ghosted across his pale features. "I found a bird once. Not sure what was wrong with it, maybe a broken wing. I told my mom. That was before she…" Sheppard paused, either lost in his thoughts or gathering the energy to speak. Rodney wasn't sure which - maybe both. "Anyway, she got an old towel and we wrapped the bird up and put it in a box for the night. We took it to a wildlife rehabilitation center in the morning. I don't know what happened to the bird. I just remember getting to sit up with my mom all night while we watched over the bird and made sure it was warm and comfortable. She was real good at that kind of stuff." Sheppard closed his eyes and curled up tighter.

"Thanks. That's…um…good to know." Rodney felt a twinge of envy that someone had shown Sheppard what to do. On the other hand, what the hell good was that knowledge now?

~~~ooo~~~

By the time they had to return the morning's breakfast ware, Rodney had only been able to get Sheppard to take a few sips of the water. And by the time lunch arrived, Sheppard hadn't been able to keep them down.

Rodney dragged himself over to fetch the lunch water, the meals no longer being a consideration for either of them. He groaned in between sips of water as a headache spiked behind his eyes. The heat was catching up with him. And it had probably long since caught up with Sheppard.

Rodney bit his lip, watching as Sheppard stirred and twisted his face in pain with the slight movement.

Shivers ran through Sheppard's body as he opened his eyes. "God, it really h-hurts." His teeth chattered as he spoke. "An' why's it s-s-so c-cold?"

"It's not cold." For a moment, Rodney wrote off the chills as a symptom of heat stroke, but he moved over to Sheppard's bed, reached out and gingerly touched the man's arm. Sheppard _was_ cold. Very cold. Damn. Not a heat stroke symptom after all. Sheppard had gone into shock. There really was internal bleeding. Rodney cursed his own overheated mind for taking too long to recognize that.

Rodney knelt beside Sheppard. "Let me have a look. I need to see where it hurts."

"What good is that gonna do?"

"I don't know, but you didn't need a reason to carve a little knife. So…" Rodney made a little motion with his hand indicating Sheppard should uncurl and roll over a bit.

Sheppard managed to unfurl and pull at the hem of his t-shirt but didn't seem to be able to mount the co-ordination or strength to actually pull the shirt up.

Rodney reached out and grasped the material as though he were handling some sort of potential biohazard. He couldn't suppress a gasp when he saw the dark purple discoloration just below Sheppard's ribcage on the left side.

"Shit. That looks awful. Why didn't you say something?"

"L-like what?"

"I don't know but…" Rodney reached out to check Sheppard's pulse because that's what Carson always did when they were injured.

Sheppard's pulse was fast – way too rapid. Rodney knew that even without the use of a watch to count the beats per minute. And the heartbeat was light and fluttery…like a small creature's…like a bird's, Rodney thought.

And then he knew what to do. He wrapped Sheppard up in the blanket — just as the man had done for him two days ago. Then Rodney fetched his own blanket, wrapping Sheppard in that, too and carefully maneuvered his friend to lie against him. Maybe Sheppard could hang on just a little longer if Rodney kept him warm and comfortable. "So maybe sharing body heat would be okay – but just this once. And I promise never to mention you tucked me in if you don't mention this."

"I'll ne'er tell." Sheppard slurred.

Rodney thought the prospect of them living to be able to tell about it was minimal.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney wasn't sure if Sheppard was muttering in his sleep or awake but lost in a world inside his head. Mitch and Dex came up often in the one-sided conversation

Rodney could have sworn he saw birds flutter through the room. And he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep when he saw he saw the ghostly image of Jeannie run by.

"Y'okay?" Sheppard asked in a breathy whisper after Rodney told Jeannie off for expecting him to do all the thinking.

Rodney rubbed his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

"Who're you talking to?" Sheppard asked.

"Ahhhh, no one."

"That's not so good."

"It was just…just a memory."

"Yeah. Thought I was seeing a Black Hawk for a while."

"It's the heat."

"I know."

Rodney sighed. "What do you do with those memories? You know the ones that catch up with you now and then? The ones you can't shake sometimes."

"Try to learn from them."

"What have you learned?"

"Sometimes a big risk is still your best bet."

"Taking a risk last night didn't end so well."

"Don't know until it's over. It's not over." Sheppard's voice was barely audible. He was fighting sleep as he finished.

"It's okay. Go back to sleep. I'm going to figure a way to get us out of here. Genius, right?"

"R-right."

Rodney desperately wanted to carry out his promise. He wondered what he had left to risk.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney waited until he was sure Sheppard was asleep and then he eased him back onto the bed.

He shuffled to the windows with his jacket and slipped it through the bars, tying it in place with the sleeve. The flag would mark their location if he was successful in summoning a rescue team.

Rodney had observed that a new guard came on duty mid-afternoon which meant there would be a shift change soon. He'd have to act now before the force field was shut off.

Grabbing Sheppard's semi-sharp knife and a few of the leftover rags he'd torn from Sheppard's t-shirt, Rodney returned to his own pallet. It was awkward doing it by himself, but he managed to tie one of the cloth strips snugly around his arm. He stuffed another into his mouth to muffle the screams that were sure to follow. And then he took the dagger and sliced it along his arm as hard as he could…

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney paused in his grisly task, sucking in a lungful of air in through his nostrils.

The cloth in Rodney's mouth may have muffled his screams enough to conceal them from the guards, but not enough to let Sheppard sleep through the procedure. The man's eyes fluttered, then shot wide open in horror.

"What the…" Sheppard scrambled and crawled across the room on his hand and knees faster than Rodney would have thought possible. Falling onto Rodney's bed with a cry of pain, Sheppard clutched his abdomen with one arm while trying to wrest the knife from Rodney with the other.

His reaction time dulled by the pain, the blood-slicked implement slipped easily from Rodney's hand. Sheppard then twisted to grab Rodney's arm and clamp down on the bleeding wound.

"Let go!" Rodney screamed through the cloth, struggling to stay conscious long enough to complete his plan. With his free hand, he fought Sheppard's hold long enough to grasp the subcutaneous transmitter between his fingertips and pull it out of his arm.

Rodney might have passed out from the pain for a minute or two because the next thing he knew, Sheppard was kneeling beside him, trembling violently as he tied the last knot in another strip of cloth wound around Rodney's arm to staunch the blood.

"I…I'm…going to... the transmitter. I'm trying to save…" Rodney gasped as he spat out the cloth.

"I…know." Sheppard collapsed on his side and curled up again. "Knew y-you'd figure somethin'."

Rodney got up and staggered to the window, his hands leaving bloody smears as he gripped the bars to stay upright. Finally the sounds Rodney had been waiting for filtered past the roar in his ears. The voices of the guards alerted him to their presence at the main entrance. It was time for a shift change. Rodney tossed out one cement chip to ensure the field was down. When the stone wasn't zapped, Rodney tossed the transmitter out beyond the bounds of the force field.

On his way back to his bed, Rodney grabbed the blankets from Sheppard's side and wrapped them back around his unconscious friend as best he could with one arm. Then he sank down beside Sheppard and let the darkness claim him.

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney roused briefly. He thought he could hear several voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Maybe the guards had come back.

"Sheppard?" One of Rodney's hands fumbled weakly trying to grab his friend's blanket and pull him closer because he didn't want the guards to injure him again.

"Put more pressure on his arm."

Rodney didn't know who'd said that, but he cried out when it felt like his arm had just been set on fire.

"Don' h-hurt him." Rodney struggled to get the words out fearing that whoever was hurting his arm would go after Sheppard next.

Then someone clasped the hand that now clutched Sheppard's blanket.

"It is alright, Rodney. We have brought a rescue team. We will take care of both of you now."

~~~ooo~~~

The next time Rodney drifted back to awareness, the oppressive heat was gone. He took a deep breath and coughed when the fresh air tickled his dry throat. Someone held a straw to his lips and he sucked the water gratefully. It was the best water he'd had in a long time… Rodney forced his eyes open.

"It's about time you woke up." Carson smiled.

"Wha? Are w-we? Did we make it…to th'…wildlife re-rehab?

"Ah…well…something along those lines." Carson's brow wrinkled as he peered at Rodney. "You're in the infirmary on Atlantis."

Rodney let his eyes wander around the room for a minute while he processed that information. His breath hitched. "Sh-Sheppard?"

"In the bed next to you."

Rodney struggled to turn his head as Carson pointed.

Under the lights of Atlantis, Sheppard looked even worse than he had in the dingy cell. The side of his face closest to Rodney was a mass of dark discoloration and swelling from his encounter with the wall. Patches of raw, scraped skin and scabs dotted across his forehead, cheek and jaw. Various tubes and wires snaked in under his blankets while the monitors kept a constant watch. Except for the thatch of spiky dark hair on the pillow, the still form on the bed was barely recognizable as Sheppard.

"L-looks bad."

"He's had surgery to stop internal bleeding. It was touch-and-go for a while there. It'll take some time, but I think he's going to be okay." Carson injected something into Rodney's IV and moved around the bed to check the bandages on his arm. "If we hadn't picked up your signal when we did…" Carson shook his head. "I hate to think what the outcome would've been."

"My plan…worked?"

"Aye. That it did. Although judging by the state of your arm, I'd say it's a good thing you didn't become a surgeon." Carson patted Rodney's shoulder. "Get some more sleep now, lad."

~~~ooo~~~

Rodney trials weren't quite over. He battled an infection in his arm, waking only for brief periods over the next couple of days. But he worriedly checked on Sheppard's condition each time. Although Carson assured Rodney that his friend was doing fine and was starting to wake up, Rodney needed to see it for himself.

"Sheppard? Are you awake yet?" Rodney didn't really expect a response to his prompt.

Sheppard moaned and shifted slightly under the blankets.

Rodney pulled himself to his side to look at Sheppard. "Carson! Sheppard's waking up." He winced as his overly loud page reawakened his fever-induced headache and he slumped back on his pillows.

Carson hurried over to John's bedside while a nurse brought another ice pack for Rodney's aching head and injected him with more medication.

Rodney fought the pull of sleep as Carson examined Sheppard, but his eyelids fought back. Just as Rodney thought he couldn't keep himself awake any longer, Sheppard turned his head enough that Rodney could see the hazel-green eyes looking at him.

"Y-you…did it." Sheppard rasped, and then closed his eyes again.

That was all Rodney needed to let his own eyes shut. He drifted off, stirring briefly as Carson checked on him.

"Colonel Sheppard's going to be fine, Rodney. And your medication is doing its job. You'll start to feel better in a day or two."

"'Kay. I'll… Mmm." Rodney had difficulty holding his thoughts together as the medication tugged him back to sleep, but he felt there was something important he had to say. "T-tell Jeannie I…I saved th' owl this time."

~~~ooo~~~

The End

~~~ooo~~~


End file.
